Sickness Blooming Fruit Trees
by TheSmokingMan
Summary: Sam pays Frank a visit. Implied slash.
1. This Hallway is Dark and Empty

The last place Sam ever wanted to be again was a prison. Surrounded by all of the scum of the Earth and God's rejected children, it was simple to comprehend why Frank did what he did.

There was that sterile smell similar to a hospital that he hated, the cold, the atmosphere. It was disgusting and he hated it. But at lease this time he would be leaving in one piece instead of the aftermath of a riot.

Gotta take the good with the bad.

He approached the service desk, watched by hawks.

"I'm here to see Frank Castle."

The pretty receptionist stared at him a moment before laughing in disbelief. Which didn't surprise Sam any.

"In my ten years I never thought I'd hear those words. You a fan or something?"

Sam tried his hardest to be kind to her without rolling his eyes, telling her to get on with it already.

He decided to turn up the charm.

"Not exactly." He smiled at her sweetly. She returned the gesture.  
>"Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but, Mister Castle isn't allowed visitors."<p>

Crap. Figures, he thought. It took Sam a moment to get out of this scrape without looking like an idiot or a womanizer, at that, so he pulled a last resort. He pulled out his wallet, flashing his Third Echelon security clearance card. How fancy I must look, he thought.

"That's a shame, because, I insist, miss."

He smiled again, watching her look back and forth between him and the card, blushing.

"Oh." She paused. 'Well then- I'll have you escorted right up, then."

"Thank you." Sam hoped she just thought he must have been there on business, or anything of the like. He probably shouldn't have shown her that card in the first place.

Sam turned to walk and retrieve a chair to wait, when he thought he might as well sugarcoat it. Might speed things up a little.

"I wouldn't think you've been here ten years. You look fresh out of college."

She blushed, laughing, waving him off.

Might be worth something.

Unfortunately, the pleasantries ended quickly, two policemen approaching him, asking for credentials. He would have to make up some bullshit to the heads at Third Echelon as to why he's flashing his identity everywhere. All part of the mission. Sure.

"This way, Mister Fisher."

He was taken to a small room up three flights of stairs before frisked and ordered to strip for further evlauation. No matter how many times Sam went through one of these searches, he hated it more and more.

Frank would owe him big time. And here Sam was being nice, his attempt at giving Frank a sense of worth, perhaps making him feel less alone. For all Sam knew he might have preferred it that way. He was lost, and all Sam could do was offer his hand- he couldn't make him take it.

No matter how badly Sam (might) want him to.

After having everything on him confiscated, his mouth and other orifices examined, he dressed and followed the officers to what looked like an interrogation room.

A table, two chairs, and a massive two-way mirror covering the wall.

Figures, Sam thought. But he couldn't have expected less. He took a seat, opposite the other, raising a brow as he watched a heavily armed guard enter the room, standing left to the empty chair.

Christ, Sam knew Frank was dangerous, but this was overkill. He gave the guard a look, as if to say, 'Really?', t which the guard replied, "Regulation, Mister Fisher. You're taking a big risk visiting The Punisher."

Sam almost chuckled, it sounded so strange the way they were so armed to the teeth and prepared, as if Frank was a rabid dog. Yes, Sam knew what he was capable of (first hand, in fact), but he of all people breached the walls.

"He doesn't kill cops." Sam replied, folding his hands on the table.  
>"You're not a cop, sir."<p>

Sam shrugged. "I'll just have to take my chances."

The floor and the walls were cold, the echoing chaos outside the door abhorrently unnerving. Foolishly biding his time Frank waited to just leave. He hated the cells, he hated the jails, he hated the criminals and all of it was exactly why he was here. He embodied the hatred and the quiet. This was his hunting ground. Everything he could ever want to fuel the fire of his war was right here in his cell.

The metal of the door screeched against the floor, two armed policemen appeaing.

"Get up, Castle." Must be time for the antagonizing,, he thought. He stood. "You've got a visitor."

The words took Frank aback momentarily. He never thought hed hear that in his life. He figured it must be some asshole wanting to swear revenge, or some kind of ploy to get him out into general public.

"Tell them to leave."  
>"They're with NSA, scumbag, we're required to bring you up there."<p>

Oh.

Well then, not much he can do about that.

The guards approached him, cuffing him head to tow, before tugging him off to God knows where.

After the treacherous amount of walking, up three flights of stairs, the guards opened a door to a hallway, leading to another door.

The only thing on Frank's mind is that Sam must be dead. He must have told the big heads to inform Frank of such an occasion, despite what little good it would do. Probably just give him another spitfuck to kill, which Frank wouldn't waste his time on. He can't harbor the vengeance of another when he has his own to withhold.

_(Frank stormed the doors in the massive bulding's 107th floor, staring Tom Reed in the face, watching him reach for the pistol at his side before a massive bloodied fist struck him, knocking him to the ground before continually striking into his face, seeing nothing but red in the rage in his eyes and the blood and teeth and bone on the marble floor until there was nothing. The body had long since become still as Frank pummelled into him over and over and over. He held his bearings after a moment, carelessly wping the sweat from his brow, staining his face with blood. He took the pistol at Reed's side, turning to leave as he spat upon his red corpse.)_

The guards stood to either side of the door, knocking against it, revealing the heavily armed guard, allowing Frank inside. "You've got fifteen minutes."

A sense of lightness covered Sam's face as he watched Frank sit opposite him.

For a moment, he felt happy. But it faded quickly.

He wasn't here for pleasantries.

It had been two months since they had seen one another, but this wasn't a reunion.


	2. Just Miles of Endless Road

There was a tension that filled the room, but Sam was more unnerved by the fact the guard was still here. He wasn't too keen on him listening. Not that he was here under questionable motive, he just didn't like being watched. Call it Splinter Cell intuition.

Either of them said nothing for five minutes, just watching eachother.

"Clock's ticking, Fisher." Ugh, fuck off already, Sam thought,, that guard getting on his last nerves.

Not that it would do much good, the room was more than likely bugged, Sam lowered his voice, hoping to reach a familiar comfort level with Frank in this hell hole.

"You look good, Frank."

Frank didn't hesitate a response.

"What do you want?"

Sam couldn't say he was startked by Frank's disgression; this wasn't the place to get cozy and let his guard down.

"How did you find me?"

Sam raised a brow. "Running and hiding from me?" He smirked. Frank didn't respond.

"Bloggers.

Figures, Frank thought.''

"You haven't answered me."

Sam paused. He didn't know what to say. Hell, he didn't know why he was here. He just felt he needed to be.

All of the things sam wanted to ask, to ask if this was where he was going when he disappeared- but it made him look weak. Stupid. What they shared wasn't exactly kosher by the feds. Not exactly regulation. A killer and a government agent. Just ten months ago Sam was assigned to kill this man. And yet he beds him on the frequent.

"Command needs a report from me." He lied, putting on a show for the guard, for the microphones under the chairs, for the men behind the glass.

Sam had lowered his voice with his words, looking Frank directly in the eyes, Frank looking back at him just as intensely, as if they were communicating, understanding every word. He read Sam like a spine-worn book. He knew everything, despite Sam's dilligence and persona. There was no hiding anything between them, they were too well trained for that.

Frank watched him unflinchingly, knowing exactly what he meant. Sam was checking up on him. Ever the mother hen, he thought. The lonely and bored old man.

Frank sighed, his way of expressing to Sam that he understood.

Sam wanted to ask if he knew when he would be out, so badly- though he would never admit it. Not to mention the guard might find it odd.

Frank probably wouldn't respond anyway.

Being that he had coveted the requirement of maximum security, he had to lead these goons off of his trail. Not that it mattered, they would never go after him willingly, let alone catch him.

"Are we done here?"

No time for pleasantries.

"Yes." Sam paused. "We're done."

Frank laid his hands flat on the table, watching Sam intently. Sam, just as he did.

Frank's features softened slightly before standing, Sam forgetting to breathe.

He watched the man get toiled off, another guard entering the room.

Sam looked up to him, his face scowled and glowering, a sigh escaping.

It took the guard a moment before he spoke.

"If you'll follow me, Mister Fisher, we'll return your belongings."


End file.
